gned a contract to
pay ten thousand francs. With the spirit of a Shylock, Harel made out an
account of actors, actresses, costumes, musicians, etc. that would have
given gooseflesh to a less anxious and less wealthy author. Lemaitre
remained sitting in a corner of the room until the manager arose to
conduct the young man to the door: then he went up to them, laid his
hand on Harel's shoulder, and said, "Why do you let him go? He has got
his watch yet."

When Victor Hugo wrote _Ruy Blas_ he informed the director of the
Renaissance--for which theatre the piece was intended--that the only
actor who could play the part of Ruy was Lemaitre. The result was
another of his wonderful creations, which set all Paris wild with
excitement. Those who have admired Fechter in this part will perhaps be
surprised to hear that in Paris his performance was pronounced but a
faint imitation of Lemaitre's. Soon after this Lemaitre's despotic and
ungovernable disposition began to get him into trouble with the law. He
quarreled with the manager of the Renaissance, and was compelled by a
judicial condemnation to play his part. Later, he threw up the principal
part in _Zacharie_, and compelled the manager to post up an
announcement, after repeated postponements and disappointments of the
public, that Lemaitre refused to play, and the theatre was closed in
consequence. The press took sides with the manager. Threatened again
with the terrors of the law, Lemaitre consented to play. He came on the
stage and was greeted with a storm of hisses. With imperturbable
coolness he advanced to the footlights and with hand on heart said, "I
am really confused, embarrassed, gentlemen, by the enthusiastic
reception you have so kindly given me. Pray receive the expressions of
my gratitude, and believe that I will place at the service of this drama
all my good will and my best efforts." Thereupon the wind changed: that
weather-cock, the French public, whirled around and applauded to the
echo.

Lemaitre did not often speak to his audience with so much
submissiveness. Sometimes he treated them to such impertinences that he
brought the police on him. After these theatrical escapades he not
unfrequently slept in the station-house. He once made a bet that he
could take off his wig on the stage without his audience getting angry.
No American play-goer, unacquainted with the temper of French audiences,
their reverence for stage decorum, can fully appreciate what a defi